


Safe Harbor

by DanceWithMeForScience



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Post-Season/Series 02, Terralysium, clueless wlw, omg they were roommates, sapphicstartrek's Fanwork Exchange, they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 02:45:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19781656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanceWithMeForScience/pseuds/DanceWithMeForScience
Summary: After the events of season 2, while Discovery tries to find its place and role in the future, Michael and Tilly begin to acknowledge their relationship to each other.





	Safe Harbor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tincanspaceship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tincanspaceship/gifts).



> This is a fic in the 2019 Sapphic Star Trek femslash exchange!

When Michael beams back onto the Discovery from Terralysium, Tilly’s waiting.

Dr. Burnham materializes on the transporter pad sitting with her left leg held straight out in front of her. Michael’s kneeling by her left side with her arm around her mom’s shoulders.

Tilly rushes onto the pad, crouches beside Michael, squeezing her hand on Dr. Burnham’s shoulder. Dr. Burnham is grimacing in pain, holding her leg.

“Where’s the medical team?” Michael demands, her voice tight.

Lieutenant Einarsson shakes his head. “Sorry, Commander, I don’t -”

The doors hiss open, admitting Dr. Pollard, Nurse Kim, and a wheeled stretcher into the room.

Dr. Pollard kneels on the step to the transporter pad and begins to scan Dr. Burnham.

“That’s a nasty break, Dr. Burnham. Kim, five cc’s of triptacederine,” she orders, and Kim administers the hypospray.

Dr. Burnham lets out a relieved breath and a soft chuckle as the pain relief kicks in. “I’ve been waiting a long time for that, Doctor.”

Tilly has so many questions. Do they know why Terralysium was deserted? Is Michael okay? Is the rest of the shuttle crew coming back soon?

But as they all work to gently maneuver Dr. Burnham onto the lowered stretcher, she reminds herself, _This isn’t the time_.

“Get well soon,” she says to Dr. Burnham as Kim and Pollard push the stretcher past, Michael holding her mom’s hand.

And then she’s alone with Einarsson in the transporter room.

“How are you holding up?” she asks.

He shrugs. “I’m okay. It hasn’t really sunk in yet.”

Tilly thinks of her dad, briefly. She’ll never see him again, but likewise, she doesn’t really feel the way she’d expect. “Me either.”

A beat of silence. He looks back at his console.

“Well, I’m going to go take a shower,” she says. “I hope you get a break soon.”

He nods, and Tilly departs.

Emerging from the bathroom, wrapped in her big fluffy sky blue Starfleet logo towel, Tilly combs conditioner through her hair. Maybe she’ll do some stretches before -

Michael is sitting on Tilly’s bed, wearing a t-shirt and her uniform trousers, staring at her hands clasped in her lap.

Tilly drops her comb. “I thought you’d be in sickbay!” She hurries over to sit on the bed too, drawn close by Michael’s wide and anguished eyes.

Michael’s biting a tiny corner of her lip. Tilly’s heart breaks a little. “Dr. Pollard kicked me out while they do the surgery. Her leg was broken in four places. She’s exhausted. And she’d been down there for _two days_ with that broken leg before I found her.”

“Oh, honey,” Tilly says softly, wrapping her right arm around Michael’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault.”

“If I’d only -”

“Nope,” Tilly cuts her off. Michael raises an eyebrow at her. “Michael, you’re a superhero. You did everything right. Sometimes things just don’t go perfectly. But after everything you did, you want to focus on the one thing you couldn’t help?”

“Spock hates when I do that,” she says, and then bursts into tears. Not just the quiet, tear running down her cheek crying that Tilly’s seen before, but full-on racking sobs, curling up, her face against her knees.

Tilly holds her, as the heartrending sobs of her best friend fill the room, and her cheeks grow hot with her own pain, and empathy for her friend. “I’ve got you,” she murmurs. “Always.” She rubs Michael’s back in what she hopes is a soothing manner, and after a few minutes, Michael’s sobs subside.

“He’s dead now. They’re all dead,” Michael mumbles into her arms, crossed over her knees.

“I’d like to think of them as alive, but in a different time than where we are now.”

Michael sits up, wiping tears from her face with the backs of her hands. “I kind of like that, Tilly.”

“We’ve been through time and space and different universes. Maybe we’ll be able to return to our own time someday. I’d like to hope we’re not trapped in this one time now, after everything we’ve done lately,” she says as optimistically as she can manage.

Michael sniffles and nods. Tilly reaches out to wipe a stray tear from her friend’s cheek.

“Thank you.” She wraps Tilly in a hug, and they sit there, floating in the moment. Tilly needs this hug-the contact is profoundly soothing. So relaxing, in fact, that exhaustion overtakes her rapidly. She’s beginning to fall asleep.

“I really like this hug,” Tilly says, “but I’m about to fall asleep now.”

“Me too.”

“I need to get into my own bed.” The idea pops out of her mouth before her conscious brain can catch up. “Do you want to come cuddle in my bed? Maybe take a nap?”

Michael sits up abruptly, and their eyes meet. Tilly’s heart pounds in her ears - why did she say that? Is it weird? Then her friend smiles a bit. “I would like that, yes.”  
Tilly feels like she’s floating above her own body when she disengages from Michael and stands up. She grabs a small towel from her dresser to wrap her still-wet hair. Meanwhile, Michael kicks off her boots, changes into sweatpants, and wraps her own curls in a scarf.

Tilly pulls back the covers and crawls into bed. A moment later, Michael slides under the covers as well, turning her back to Tilly as she nestles into her friend’s arms.

She buries her face between Michael’s shoulder blades and inhales Michael’s soft sweet scent. It’s been a hard several weeks, and now that she’s in bed, trying to relax, the emotions she’s had to lay aside are welling up as well. Now she’s wide awake, and scared, memories of the last few days flashing through her mind.

“I didn’t think Starfleet would be like this,” she mumbles.

“What do you mean?” Michael asks, laying her hand over Tilly’s on her stomach.

“It’s harder than I expected,” she admits, with a dry laugh. “A lot harder.” She pauses. “Not that I’m saying anything I’ve been through compares to what you’ve been through.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

They lie there in silence for a few minutes. Even though Tilly’s more awake, her body is starting to relax, her muscles loosening, a soft smile replacing the pinched sadness in her face.

“Can I put on some music?” Tilly asks at last. “Sometimes that helps me fall asleep.”

“Mhm,” Michael says. “I’ll be asleep any moment now, and I don’t think I’m going to wake up for anything.”

“Computer, play the ‘Vulcan Ambient’ playlist.”

“I didn’t know you liked Vulcan music,” Michael says sleepily.

“I liked that music you were playing the other day, and I started poking around. It’s really relaxing. Kind of random, for Vulcans.”

Michael snorts. “Actually, there’s always a pattern. Sometimes it’s just so complex or long that it _appears_ to be random, or without logic. It’s a reminder that even events or actions without apparent cause fit into a cause-and-effect system, a pattern, a system.”

“Vulcans are so philosophical,” Tilly says, amused. “I like that they put math into it, and all, but I just like the music.”

The soft chords of the Vulcan string instrument provide a soothing anchor for Tilly’s mind. In just a few minutes, Michael has fallen asleep. Tilly lets the safety of the moment lull her, bit by bit, into her own rest.

***

Michael stirs, her mind gradually floating up into consciousness.

There’s a soft noise so close to her, rhythmic and raspy.

She looks over her shoulder to see Tilly, still wrapped in her towel, snoring softly behind her, having rolled over to sleep on her back, her hand still touching Michael’s shoulder against the bed.

Heat rises under Michael’s cheeks, but she also can’t repress a smile.

Tilly’s bedside chronometer shows it’s 2312. They’ve been asleep for four hours.

_Mom._

She bolts to her feet. Why has no one called her?

Straightening her t-shirt, she gazes down at Tilly longingly. If it weren’t for her mom, she’d curl up and go back to sleep.

Instead she takes off her scarf, checks her reflection in the holomirror (it’ll have to do), pulls on her sneakers, and heads back to sickbay.

Sickbay is deserted, except for Dr. Culber tending to a sleeping Stamets. He smiles at her comfortingly as she enters.

“We moved your mom to sickbay 2,” he says in answer to her implied question. “She’s recovering well. Since we had to do another surgery, it was easier to move her rather than relocate all the equipment.”

She wants to run next door. But something in his expression, a certain fragility, makes her pause.

“How are you holding up?” she asks gently, taking a step closer.

“I’ve had better days,” he says with a small laugh. “But,” he gazes down at his partner, “I’ve also had much worse ones.”

“How is he?”

Dr. Culber glances up at the biobed display. “Out of the coma. I think you already knew that part. But he’s sleeping a lot.” He scans the corner of the display. “With any luck he’ll be released in a couple days.” He pats Stamets’ hand.

“I’m glad to hear it.” She steps in to squeeze his arm. After everything they've been through, they deserve some rest.

Everyone on the ship does.

“We should have lunch sometime when things are a bit calmer,” she offers, and Dr. Culber smiles. “Maybe some sparring practice first.”

“I’d like that, Michael.”

She makes her way next door.

“But you know how she is,” her mom saying as Dr. Pollard prepares some equipment on her tray. “Oh, Michael!” She smiles in that tired way she has now, and Michael feels her emotional control crumpling.

Michael resists the urge to fully fling herself into her mom’s arms, measuring her steps as she approaches, and leaning over to softly hug her. “Why didn’t you call me when you woke up?” she admonishes.

“Honey, we did call, over an hour ago. You didn’t answer. We decided you must have been asleep.”

Sobs are trying to work their way out of Michael, and even though she’s trying to let herself be human, she still swallows back the tears. “I did need that nap,” she admits, pulling back from the hug, sniffling. “I’m glad to see you.”

Her mom is up and about, Discovery is en route to a nearby system, limping along at low warp, to attempt to make contact with another sentient species, and Tilly wants to have lunch with them.

When they’re settled with their replicated food, Michael sitting next to her mom, and Tilly in the chair across from them, Tilly beams at them. “It’s so great to finally get to talk to you, Dr. Burnham. I know you’ve always been on Michael’s mind. I could tell.”

Michael’s mom gives Michael a sideways glance. “You could tell?” she says skeptically.

Michael finds herself wanting to whine, _Mom! Give Tilly a break!_

“Tilly is very intuitive,” she instead patiently explains. “She was my first friend aboard Discovery. And we’ve been roommates the whole time.”

Her mom raises her eyebrows, looking between them. “I never thought you’d tolerate a roommate if you had the choice. So you still share a room?”

The air of… disapproval, is it? in her mom’s voice gets Michael’s hackles up. “Tilly’s my best friend. There’s never been a good reason to switch. We get along very well.”

“Michael’s a great roommate,” Tilly adds. “She taught me a lot about what it takes to reach for a command post.” She smiles. “And she’s a good running partner and cheerleader too.”

“Tilly found the asteroid that we used to save Terralysium,” Michael explains. “And that set off the whole chain of events that led to us getting Dr. Culber back.”

Tilly lights up with excitement to tell the whole story. “Yeah, after that, I was trying to gather a sample for some more research. When I did that, that’s when May started appearing to me. She’s from a species called the JahSepp that live inside the mycelial network and…”

When Tilly excuses herself to head back on shift, collecting Michael and Dr. Burnham’s trays to return, her mom grins. “She likes you, honey.”

“Of course she does, Mom,” Michael says. “Why wouldn’t she?”

Dr. Burnham chuckles. “No, I mean, she’s got a big old crush on you. You don’t reciprocate?”

Michael leaves that question aside, suddenly filled with dread. Her mom has been nearby during various events of her life, her _whole_ life. “Mom, you didn’t ever accidentally spy on any… intimate moments of mine, did you?”

“Thank goodness, no. Neither of us needs that.”

“Good.” Michael wishes she still had food in front of her so she could turn back to it while she thought of what to say next. She thought she had so _much_ to say to her mom, and now… She laughs as a memory flashes strong in her brain. “When I first met Tilly, she wanted to call me _Mickey_. Can you imagine?”

“Your dad would be horrified,” Dr. Burnham says. “Absolutely horrified." She pauses, appraising Michael. "Do you like Tilly?”

Michael grimaces. “Mom, please. We’ve barely had a day together yet and you’re questioning me about dating.”

“We never had your teenage years together for me to bother you then,” her mom protests, making Michael’s chest constrict painfully. “But all right. I’ve seen you very happy in some of these timelines, that’s all.”

Michael boggles. “Mom, have you… seen me… date Tilly?”

“This timeline business is a lot more complicated when you’re involved, baby,” her mom sighs, and refuses to answer further. Eventually Michael is commed to take care of some issues on the bridge related to their upcoming first contact, and she has to put herself back to work, and not think about what her mom knows or doesn’t know.

The Federation database, naturally, has no information about the first system they reach, or about any other nearby systems. Star charts exist, but provide very little data to go on.

Terralysium was a well-chosen safe harbor, well out of the way of any species who would want to harm the displaced humans. But Discovery could be searching for some time before they find another species to communicate with.

Given how damaged Discovery still is, it’s for the best that they keep moving and try to find another species who can help them with materials for repair. They still aren’t receiving any responses to their emergency subspace messages.

Even in this mild emergency situation, the mood around the ship is relatively quiet, people taking time to breathe, to acknowledge their new situation, to cry and hug each other, to think about what lies ahead in these rare calmer moments.

Michael has been moving so rapidly for so long, it’s hard to slow down.

At the end of her shift, she takes her dinner tray back to her quarters, eating at the little table she and Tilly put at the back of their quarters.

Tilly’s on the same shift as her, apparently, so comes into the room a bit later, carrying her own tray.

“What a day,” Tilly sighs, putting her tray down on the bed while she kicks off her boots, unzips her jacket, and lets down her hair.

“Something happen?” Michael asks. She wishes something had.

“I was just completely caught up in repairing your suit. We might need it again someday. But I’m having a lot of trouble with the damaged circuits. I pulled a Stamets and forgot to eat lunch.” Tilly sits down at the table, setting the tray in front of her. Burrito with roasted tomato enchilada sauce, Michael notes.

“I am so hungry,” Tilly says, cutting into her burrito and then putting a large forkful in her mouth. Her eyes close in delight. “Mmmmm,” she says around chewing. “God, I need to take more snack breaks. I can’t keep working like Stamets does.”

“You should take care of yourself. Commander Stamets would want what’s best for you.”

“I miss him. Dr. Culber says he’s going to wake up soon but I want him to help me,” Tilly says. “I keep getting distracted, especially now. I’m kinda freaking out. We’re 930 years in the future and I still just have to fix equipment like everything’s normal?” She throws her hands in the air and then slams them down on the table. The sudden noise and rattle startles her. “I’m sorry,” she says meekly. “I just can’t believe we’re going on this way.”

Michael puts a hand on Tilly’s, resting on the table, before she even thinks about this, in light of what her mom said. “A lot has happened. It’s okay to process things at your own rate.” If she stopped too long to think about how wild it was that her mom is still alive, she’d probably break down too. Years of Vulcan mental training help her keep that in check.

Tilly chuckles, her voice catching, slightly breathy. “You sound like me, Michael.”

“I learned from the best.” Michael squeezes Tilly’s hand.

Tilly inhales sharply, pulling her hand back, so Michael pulls her hand back as well. She feels acutely uncomfortable now. Her mom’s perception of the situation has changed her entire view on her dynamic with her friend. Is her mom right?

Oh, she really needs to meditate.

They eat in silence for a while.

“Can I ask you something?” Tilly finally asks, her voice unsteady.

Michael looks up from her food, taking in Tilly’s worried, pinched expression, the slight flush on her beautiful cheeks, her glowing red hair cascading over her shoulders. “Of course.”

“I really like being your roommate,” she begins. “And your friend. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Michael.”

Michael’s cheeks feel warm. Is this going where she thinks it’s going?

“Do you ever get tired of me, being me?” Tilly asks, voice breaking now on the last words. “I just think I can be so annoying sometimes, and I’m worried you’ll want to leave.”

“That’s your mom’s voice inside your head,” Michael responds automatically, heart dropping a little at the question - and the lack of the other question that apparently she was hoping Tilly would ask? “Don’t listen to her.”

“Well, I’ll never have the opportunity to listen to her again, so.” She pushes back from the table. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can really -” She lets out a sob.

“Hey, hey, Tilly, it’s okay,” she says gently, getting up and crossing over to her side, kneeling and taking her friend’s hand as she cries.

After a few moments, Tilly wipes her reddened eyes with the other hand, breathing in and out slowly and deliberately. “Look at me crying over all this, when you’ve had such a hard time these last few months. With Spock, and Ash, and your mom appearing and disappearing and reappearing…”

“It’s not a race to have the worst time,” Michael says. “You’re allowed to be sad.”

“Saru to Burnham.” Saru’s voice shatters the moment.

Michael sighs, reorienting her focus. “Burnham here.”

“Commander, we’ve reached the periphery of a new system and are picking up active local radio signals from one of the planets. We believe we’re about to make first contact with a warp-capable species.”

“I’m on my way.”

Michael gets to her feet, looking down at Tilly’s tear-stained cheeks. She aches to run her fingers through her beautiful curls, kiss her cheek, tell her everything will be okay again. But duty calls.

Tentatively she reaches out, letting the tips of her fingers trace along Tilly’s cheek toward her hair. “We’re going to be fine, Tilly.” Her eyes are closed, her lips slightly pursed. “I believe in you. And all of us.”

Her eyes flutter open and she smiles. “Thank you, Michael.” Her own hand moves to touch Michael’s on her face.

_I have to go. Now. Before I-_

She doesn’t allow herself to finish the thought. When is she getting that meditation time?

She strides onto the bridge, in full professional mode. Saru swivels in his chair. “Good to see you, Commander.” The words could have been biting, sarcastic - she knows she wasn’t as fast as she could be, but Saru is patient with her. Thank goodness.

“Lieutenant Bryce, please send Starfleet’s standard greeting message,” Saru orders.

“Aye, sir.”

Only a few seconds pass before an automated voice responds in harsh, raspy tones. “Enemy vessel. Exit this system immediately or we will destroy you.”

“We arrive in peace, seeking friendship and trade,” Saru responds evenly, but with a touch of indignation. “We are a Starfleet vessel.”

“Sir,” Owosekun reports, “I'm detecting weapons powering on from defense stations in orbit around the planet. We’re not able to take more than a few hits at our current shield levels.”

“We should fire on them while we still can,” Georgiou says, striding onto the bridge.

Michael rolls her eyes. The last thing they need right now is advice from a Terran emperor. Why does she have bridge access anyway? She makes a mental note to look into this when they’re not in a crisis situation.

“Hold our position for the moment, Detmer,” Saru instructs, shooting an irritated look at Georgiou. He raises his voice for the benefit of the other species. “We have disabled our weapons. We mean you no harm. We are far from home and require assistance.”

A clipped, non-automated voice responds this time. “We will not fall for your tricks. Depart our system immediately.”

“Sir, they’re firing!” Owosekun says, a moment before a growing red dot comes on the viewscreen. Another moment passes and the ship is rocked by the collision. “Shields down to 22%.”

“Red alert,” Saru orders belatedly. “Detmer, get us out of the system and to a safe distance from any traffic.”

Another shot glances off their shields before they can go to impulse. Once out of the system, Michael lets out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Well.” Saru looks around. “That didn’t go as expected. Any thoughts?” He seems to notice the flashing red lights just then. “Cancel red alert.” Georgiou begins to speak, but Saru cuts her off. “Not you. My crew.”

 _What horrible future did I bring us to?_ Michael thinks automatically. _Why are we an enemy to those people?_ She tries to focus, bring herself back to the work, find the next option. She’s always been good at that. Why is she falling apart now?

Saru sets the team to work gathering more information from radio signals. Unable to pull herself back together, she eventually messages Saru from her console, asking permission to continue coordinating the research efforts from the first officer’s office. When she’s safely in the turbolift, she uses that time to run through a brief meditation sequence, trying to tamp down her panic. She wishes she could go home and pour this out to Tilly but her friend is probably sleeping, and needs the sleep.

Perhaps by herself she can get centered, get focused.

***

Tilly wakes up early the next morning, feeling lonely. Michael apparently stayed on duty all night.

So she checks on Stamets in sickbay. He’s awake, but extremely groggy-looking. Culber’s by his side, checking his vitals with one hand, holding Stamets’ hand with the other. The doctor smiles at her and she already feels better.

“He’s been asking about you,” Dr. Culber says. He looks down at Stamets. “Tilly’s here.”

“Hi, sir,” she says softly, approaching the biobed.

“Tilly,” he croaks, blue eyes trained on her from between half-open lids, which he seems to be struggling to open more fully. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she says, choking back the tears which she’s been on the verge of since last night’s dinner with Michael. “Hanging in there. How are you?”

“Good enough to go home. If Hugh would let me.” He coughs, wincing.

“He is _not_ well enough to go home.” The doctor rolls his eyes. “For once in your life, just take it easy.”

Stamets rolls his eyes back, but changes the subject. “I hear we’re a ship on the run,” he says to Tilly. “Any idea what’s going on?”

She sighs, biting her lip. “No. Communications is running through all the radio signals they can find, looking for more info. We still can’t raise Starfleet or the Federation. I can’t think of what to do. So I’m just repairing Michael’s suit.”

“Good idea,” he says. “Never know when that might come in handy.” He falls into a coughing fit, curling into himself a little as he rolls onto his side, facing her.

“Let me get you a cough suppressant.” Dr. Culber heads for the back.

Tilly looks down at her boss, distressed anew at how old and fragile he appears in this state. She’s seen him medically dead before and he still didn’t look this bad. “I’m sorry you’re dealing with this,” she says, feeling like she should say something.

“Don’t be,” he says, catching his breath. “I would rather be here than anywhere else in time or space.”

Dr. Culber comes back into the room with a hypospray and a glass of orange liquid. He rounds the biobed to where Tilly’s standing, and she steps back to let him administer the hypo. “Can you sit up?” he asks gently. “I want to get some liquids into you. If you can’t swallow, I think we need to get you back on an IV.”

Stamets slowly levers himself up, taking the glass. “This isn’t so bad,” he says in surprise after a sip. “Did you program this flavor? It seems familiar.”

“It’s Tang, what they used to drink in space almost three centuries ago.”

Stamets lights up, smiling fondly at his partner. “You remembered.” He turns to Tilly. “Once I got really into the stories of the original Earth astronauts. I probably talked Hugh’s ear off about it. I kept replicating old space food.”

“It was only fair after I wouldn’t shut up about the de Koonings,” Culber replies, gazing at Stamets with heartwarming fondness.

Tilly grins. They really do make a great pair. She’d love to stay in this moment, but she should eat breakfast, get to work, stay on task. “I’m going to go now, but I’ll come back later. Rest up, sir. Can’t wait to have you back in the lab.”

When Tilly leaves sickbay, she’s reminded of the times she’s rushed to Michael’s side in sickbay. Michael’s grin whenever she sees Tilly is the highlight of Tilly’s day. It’s the most beautiful smile she’s ever seen. It would be medicine on its own. And there’s nobody she’d rather have next to her if she was sick or hurt. She never would have forgiven herself for letting Michael go to the future on her own…

She comes to an abrupt halt halfway to the turbolift.

Her friendship with Michael may have shifted into something else without her even noticing.

“I need to talk to you about something,” they both say to each other when Tilly walks into their quarters that evening after dinner.

Michael’s sitting on her bed, still in her uniform, jacket unzipped. They both widen their eyes at each other.

“What do you want to talk to me about?” Michael asks evenly, returning her attention to slipping off her boots.

“I think I came to the future partly because I don’t want to live without you.” She regrets the words as soon as she’s said them. _Too intense, too strong, it’s not like that, yet, maybe?_ “I mean,” she barges on, “that I think we’ve become very close over the past year, so close that I couldn’t even imagine why I’d want to stay in the past if you weren’t there with me.”

“Tilly.” That’s all Michael says, her name, so gentle and soft, and then pats her bed beside her.

“You know I shouldn’t sit there.”

“Tilly, I got hypoallergenic sheets months ago.”

“Why would you do that? You don’t need special sheets.”

Michael shrugs slightly. “I didn’t want it to bother you.”

“It wouldn’t bother me, if your sheets were different, not unless we-” Tilly sits down abruptly next to Michael, realizing.

“Maybe you see what I mean, Tilly. I’ve been so wrapped up in everything that’s been happening, the things directly in front of me that I had to deal with. I loved Ash. I _love_ Ash. But he has always been on a different path than me. You and I -” she smiles “- we always seem to be on the same trajectory.”

Tilly’s heart leaps. “I don’t even know what to say,” she confesses with a small laugh. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Michael nods, her smile fading. “That’s the thing that’s been holding me back too. Your support is everything to me. And now we’re 930 years in the future, and I don’t want to do anything to lose that.” She takes Tilly’s hand, tentatively. “But I also can’t keep fighting this feeling. It seems… dishonest. Not to acknowledge it. Not to see where it takes us.”

“I know what you mean. Maybe… we can just agree to talk things out? To put our friendship first, even while we figure out what this might be?” She laughs. “I really don’t have a lot of experience with this.”

“You’re talking to a 30-year-old woman raised Vulcan, Tilly,” Michael says, amused. “I don’t either.”

“Okay.” Tilly gazes at Michael, admiring her beautiful curls, her glowing brown skin, her dark shining eyes, the enticing curve to her smiling lips… “Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

She leans in closer - _close your eyes, Tilly!_ \- and their lips touch. Michael’s hand moves onto her back, squeezing her close. The kiss is gentle, exploratory, soft, and utterly delightful.

Some moments later, they pull away, smiling helplessly at each other.

“You’re a really good kisser,” Tilly says.

“So are you.” Michael’s eyes are glowing with something like mischievousness.

“And you say you don’t have a lot of experience,” Tilly giggles. “I think you should just kiss me some more. Maybe we can lie down on your bed.”

“I guess that’s what I’ve been waiting for, ever since I got these sheets.”

Michael lies down on the bed, pulling at Tilly’s hand to join her. It’s the first real escape from their lives either of them have had since coming to the future, and it’s a joy to lose herself in Michael’s touches and kisses, feeling as though something vital has been added to her relationship with this wonderful, brilliant, beautiful woman.


End file.
